


Foolish Things

by Blue_Five



Category: Taboo (TV 2017), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Other, Venom AU: Taboo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:03:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: Re-imagining of the Taboo TV seriesA ghost returns on the occasion of a funeral.  He does not arrive alone.





	1. Sinner Returned

He watches dark water undulate against the all too fragile sides of the transfer vessel.  The man rowing is oblivious as so many are, considering themselves in control of their fates when but a rogue wind can set their lives tumbling along into doom.  Still ... still.  If the course he sails now was brought about by such a wild zephyr, he does not think he will voice complaint.  

Tendrils of warmth slither across his torso and he is hard-pressed to remain motionless.

_Cherished one, you threaten my composure._

_**Care not.** _

Emptiness floods his very gut and this time his lips twitch in amusement at the intimation of near-starvation. Thunder rumbles through the gray overcast and he is grateful his cloak hides his expression even though his back is to the rower.  Suddenly, an image of the boatman’s wide, horrified eyes flits across his vision — he sighs.

_Beloved, where we travel you will find sustenance beyond your wildest imaginings.  Patience, I beg you._

_**Infuriating human.  Patience we find tiresome.** _

_I know, love ... but you will restrain yourself from murdering this innocent sailor for me?_

Petulance ripples in his thoughts but also reluctant acquiescence.  His Other — the most precious thing in existence — has already graciously indulged him during this voyage far beyond anything he had a right to expect.  It is no surprise, then, that they grow weary of the effort and long to be set free to pursue their own nature.  Thin lines of heat slink across his very face leaving molten trails before disappearing in a blink.  One singular dash plucks at the corner of his mouth and it would take a far stronger man than himself to _not_  dart out with tongue to taste.  It flickers away, teasing and he exhales silently.  

_You taunt me, sweet one._

_**Only fair.  You taunt us much of late with false promises of food.**_

_Forgive me ... all will be repaid soon.  Look, the coast approaches._

_**Your land.  Your home.  Your family.** _

The words are laced with uncertainty.  His Other will never admit but fear of loss lurks beneath the connection they share — he immediately blankets it with all the emotion he feels for his ever-present companion.  

_Nay, my love. You are my home, my family ... the only shore I willingly beach upon.  I have business here but only to ensure we will never be apart.  All that I am is yours._

The Other is silent but unseen fingers caress the organ that pounds within his chest and his eyes flutter in ecstasy.  Some men stand as holy temples to God but he chooses to worship the ebony deity that resides deep within the very fiber of his being.  He calls them beloved. He calls them Venom.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Rain pelts his oiled slicker as he digs.  The soil, damp and dark, stains him briefly before being washed away by the deluge.  He glances around as he pulls a black drawstring bag out.  

_**No others nearby.  Only the beast you ride.** _

_Do not devour my mount, love.  It is a long walk to London town._

**Skittish animal.**

He feels Venom’s irritation but it is distant.  The Other is not truly upset and his hands suddenly take an angled dig into the mud at the bottom of the small hole he has dug.  

_**Like a cobra’s path into the dust - never a straight path.** _

_Thank you, love._

He quickly fills the emptiness and pats everything into place. The rain will destroy any appearance of recently turned dirt if any happen across this spot in days to come.  He gathers everything and deftly mounts his horse.  The creature dances uneasily, sensing the Other, no doubt.  He soothes it with soft words and familiar tongue clicks.  He presumes it can’t be easy for the poor creature to carry what it knows to be Death.  Still, training wins out and he finds himself comfortably galloping toward Town.  

He has business to attend to.

VVVVVVVVV

The face of the man he knew as Father is ashen and so much older than last he saw it.  Darkened copper discs sit on each eye - decorum for the living to avoid the sightless orbs of the dead.  He removes the pennies to his pocket and studies the body for a moment.

”Carl Edward Brock, my father.”

**_He wounded you._ **

“He created me.  Without him, I do not exist.”

A brief flare of dismissive irritation flutters along their bond.  

**_We do not forgive so easily ... but you speak truth.  Without his seed, you ... our perfect Other ... would never have found us.  We acknowledge this debt above all others._ **

Words emerge from his throat but he does not form them.  Venom growls the harsh syllables which echo off damp stone walls.  He welcomes the grating language that is not his own but is as familiar to him as the very air he breathes.  His Other relinquishes control to him again and the room is silent.

”I am Edward Charles Allan Brock and I ask that you forgive me, Father.  For I have indeed sinned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something new after “Endgame”. What’s better than dark, brooding Tom Hardy and a certain Symbiote?


	2. The Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a dead man walks among the living.

**_London 1814_ **

Brock strolls amid the frenetic bustle of humanity along London’s docks.  The masses part before him as the bow of a ship parts the water. He takes no notice of them - outwardly, at least.  His Other lurks within his eyes and by their sight, he sees details no human could dream of without aid; his hearing, likewise enhanced, brings to him the vibrations of the living as they crawl through their existence.  The creak of a ship riding at moor … the sharp _thunk_ of a cleaver severing goose head from body … the never-ending chatter of children playing amid the filth … it all drifts to Brock and he systematically discards it all as superfluous to his goal.  His gaze performs the same ruthless censoring until, finally, he locates the grouping of individuals he seeks. Brock moves to approach but finds his progress slowed.

_Beloved?_

Before Brock receives an answer, the clang of a bell assaults his hearing as loud as if he stood inside it as clapper.  With a wince, he sends apology through his bond.

_Forgive me, my love, I forgot about the bells._

**_Your kind are loud.  Loud when born, loud when dead._ **

Brock snorts as he pretends to watch a crew furling sails on a nearby freighter.  

_I suppose we are, dear.  So I was before you taught me of silence … before you gave me peace._

Warmth circles his ribs and Brock exhales softly at the physical touch of his Other.  He tightens his gloves and glances at the funeral procession pulling away. The bell’s tolling is less shrill but he still questions.

**_Yes, better.  Can you see all you need?_ **

_I can, love.  I see the carriage that carries my father’s corpse to his final rest.   I see the mount that carries her behind him. I see her perched as a pale crow upon the beast._

Uneasiness flows into their link along a surge of possession so deep, Brock grunts as he fights losing himself in it.

**_MINE._ **

Were he any other man, Brock would fall to his knees in supplication to the voice only he can hear.  Instead, he clenches his hand into a fist and looks down into the gray water below the planks of the dockside.  He sees a reflection no longer so familiar to him. He ceased to care about it once his Other joined him — he only sees himself though their eyes now.  

_I am forever yours, sweet one.  Never doubt. She is but another moment of my past and one I intend to purge from my soul._

**_Yours.  We belong to you as you to us and we will never let you go._ **

Brock sighs.  He begins to walk again, following the mourners.  The intensity of what he shares with his Other wipes all other concerns to the side.  If he could but live on an island with no other living soul but themselves he would count himself a blessed man.  One day, perhaps. Until then, he must tend to matters of men.  

He paces his stride to keep a fair distance between himself and the funeral procession.  A tiny, but oh so warm tendril tickles at his ear shell when the herald cries out on behalf of the dead man.

**_Do your kind announce the dead to the afterlife?_ **

_No, my heart -- it is a vanity of sorts for those that can afford such frivolous things.  It also reminds others of their own mortality._

Edward feels movement ripple just beneath his skin as his Other laughs without sound.  A full body undulation indicating their deep amusement.

**_As if by knowing they could avoid it?_ **

Brock’s lips twitch.  _Death makes equals of us all, my love._

**_You do not fear death._ **

_No longer.  When I perish we will go to whatever heaven or hell awaits us.  I will be with you … what care I beyond that?_

Venom purrs deep within Edward’s core knowing the vibrations travel the human’s spine in a pleasant way. Before this blessed union, Venom had never considered to accept death when their host died.  They obeyed the survival instinct to the exclusion of all else as did all of their kind. Since joining to Edward Brock, however, Venom finds themselves bereft at the mere thought of being separated from their host. So deep is the dismay Venom knows they will all-too-willingly succumb to the dark instead of seeking another being to merge into.  Of course, they will only do such if Edward dies of natural causes. If someone _deliberately_ removes their love from this mortal coil then Venom will have a final bit of sustenance to slowly devour … from the inside out.

* * *

Edward regards the church silently.  Many years have passed since he last set foot in one and the experiences left him unsettled even then. Venom’s hunger suddenly surges insistently across Brock’s awareness demanding notice.  It distracts Edward from his gray feelings with images of Venom hunting the pious between wooden pews and dragging them along the cold flagstones to their doom. Edward fights down a wholly inappropriate smile.

**_Better._ **

Brock realizes his Other just successfully prevented him from being lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. He sends a warm wave of love through their connection and faces the entrance.  Secure in his own mind again, Edward settles the mask he wears into something unrevealing and pulls the doors open briskly.  Chill, damp air greets him alongside the ever-present reek of unwashed and over perfumed bodies. His enhanced sense of smell does him little favors in London. Mold spores dance in the bone pale light that manages to creep through narrow windows.  Time to begin as he means to go on.

Brock starts up the main aisle paying no regard to those sitting in the pews around him but he senses their sudden shock and hears the murmurs begin. It pleases him to cause such ripples in the once-calm pond of their world.  

The lawyer ... Thoyt, if Edward remembers correctly, turns when the doors creak open and continues to gawp like a codfish as Brock strides into the church. 

“Dear God.  There walks a dead man.”

Another head turns and dark eyes peer disinterestedly through the lace of a veil.  They briefly light on him before flaring and fluttering away in terror like a flushed game bird on the current of a horrified inhale. Edward dimly feels Venom’s glee at her distress in the back of his mind. It anchors him.

Brock singles out the frantic pounding of his sister’s heart within her delicate breast.  It causes him no little wonder that the shriveled thing still has the strength to move, least of all with such fervor. Venom’s cold disdain manifests as an almost painful tightness between his shoulder blades as if clawed digits clenched there.

_Peace, beloved one._

The pressure eases.

“Who is that?”

Brock notes the pale man squinting beside his sister from the periphery of his vision as he passes. He can smell her on the preening fop and, again, dim horror flows through him at the realization of what he might have accepted as love. Brock hears her gasped declaration.

“He is Hell opened up.”

The lawyer gives voice to his own deductions.  “That’s -- dear Lord Almighty, it is him. That’s your _brother._ ”

Brock pauses before the alms box.  Into it, he slips the shillings left on his father’s eyes.  A vague hope that they will do another good passes through his mind while he reverses course and sits in the pew directly across the aisle from his sister.  Venom slithers across the muscles of his shoulders. Edward feels his Other’s dawning amusement at the reactions to their human’s appearance.

 **_They fear_** **_my Eddie._ **

_Mmm, do you think, my sweet?  I hope so. Men always fear what they cannot understand. It makes them vulnerable._

**_Easier to hunt. Easier to eat._ **

Brock cannot but agree as the priest begins his noisome babbling. 


End file.
